Horrorlock
by Ana221b
Summary: John, with a job he got a while back, got a bit of a promotion. John and Sherlock move into a 1920's Victorian house, expecting nothing of it, but when they find it's haunted.. well I guess you have to read what happens. Sherlock with an American Horror Story crossover. I actually fancy "Horror!lock". Parent!lock may be plotted in this.
1. Getting Started

Horror!lock

"But I don't want to move, John."

"It's only for a year, Sherlock." John said as he was packing his clothes into a suitcase.

Sherlock moved to John's suitcase and sat on top of it.

"Why are we moving again?" said Sherlock, finding a comfy spot on top of John's cloths.

"We aren't moving."

"Then why go somewhere if we aren't moving and why do I have to go?"

"I mean we are moving, but only for a year. You agreed you'd go with me. Plus, I don't want to be alone." John kissed Sherlock's forehead and continued folding his cloths placing them around the suitcase.

"Oh yes! I remember. Is that why you were snogging me that one night? The day you told me, so I'd _forget_ and never ask you about it?"

He sighed, "I just think going to America for a bit will.. do us good."

"But, I like Baker Street, and Ms. Hudson." Sherlock pouted.

"We'll be back in a year. What part don't you understand?

"So they are paying for it? The apartment bill,"

John interrupted, "It's not an apartment. It's a two-story, 1920's Victorian house."

Sherlock looked up at him, "Okay, so they are paying for the two-story house bill, water bill, electricity. What else?"

"The house is $7,200 for the year, so they are leaving the water and grocery bill too us. The house, phone and electricity bill will be paid by them. I found it rather a good deal. Don't you think?" John smiled, "All that is, is $3,000 for us to pay for the year. And we do have more than what we need in the bank."

"It's a 1920's _Victorian _house... wouldn't it cost more? Maybe mold or termite problems? Is the house haunted?" Sherlock looked at him with his big 'please enlighten me' eyes.

"Haunted? As in ghosts and such? Out of all people, I would have thought you never believed." John chuckled, "The reviews didn't say anything about ghosts, termites or any of what you think."

Sherlock was feeling uncomfortable sitting on top of John's cloths, so he moved on too the bed and laid their like a lazy cat.

"Well.. I don't but I like to wonder sometimes. If there are termites or moss... we can move to a safer house or apartment?"

"Yes, they have everything covered. If we don't like the house, we can look for another one," John climbed into bed next to Sherlock, "Go pack up.. we leave tomorrow at noon."

"Can I pack up tomorrow morning? I'm tired." He faked a yawn.

"Fine, but I want you to wake up early and pack." John zipped up the suitcase and set it on the floor. He laid real close to Sherlock, hoping he would wrap his arms around him and put him to sleep in a jiff.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

Sherlock stretched towards the lamp and turned the lights off. "Goodnight John."

He wrapped his arms around John and closed his eyes.

{oOo}

"John, did you pack my stuff up?" said Sherlock as he was trying to find his suitcase.

"Oh yea," John came into the bedroom, "I couldn't sleep so I, umm, packed your stuff."

"Can we relax now then?"

"No. Not yet, I have to go to the bank, redraw the money we need and then maybe we can relax... On the way to America."

Sherlock grunted, as much as he liked going places, he hated airplane rides.

"It's just six hours, Sherlock."

"Just six hours? Only six hours. Do you understand what happens when I'm sitting down doing nothing for six hours?" Sherlock grabbed on to John's shoulders and shook him a bit.

There was a long pause. There wouldn't be any Baker Street, Ms. Hudson or any of that for a year. Everything would be gone until they came back after.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "You never said where."

"Los Angeles." said John walking away from Sherlock.

"Los Angeles? Seems very unlike you." Sherlock sighed and followed John to the living room.

"I think you'll like it." John smirked.

{oOo}

Sherlock was sitting near the window. "I don't know how much longer I can take of this, John."

"It's only been fifty bloody minutes."

"I thought you would have known, I get bored easily." smirked Sherlock.

"Well just close your eyes and go to sleep, we'll be there faster if you just sleep."

Sherlock closed his eyes, "I can't sleep."

"You didn't even try to sleep," John rolled his eyes and went back to dozing off. He couldn't handle air plane rides, it wasn't that he was scared of flying or afraid of small places, he just couldn't sit there for a long time. He didn't want Sherlock to know for the fear of him having a commotion for having options to go to their destination. The tickets were free. It probably was the greatest option John got. He wasn't about to tell his boss no, because they had a problem sitting down for more than six hours.

"You're uncomfortable too." Sherlock opened one of his eyes.

"No. I'm perfectly fine." John was drumming a beat on to his knee

Sherlock opened his other eye, "It's quite obvious, John. You've been beating the same beat to your knee since the taxi ride. And you only drum that beat when you are aggravated or uncomfortable."

"Stop it. Close your eyes."

"Admit it John."

"No. I'm not going to. just because you said so."

"Well I guess you'll be hearing me blab."

John just closed his eyes, and laid back. "This time I'm not letting you get to me, Sherlock."

"That's what you say, but let me tell you this... I always get to you." Sherlock crossed his arms.

A few hours passed. John was relaxing, while Sherlock had gotten tired of looking out the window, so he had fallen asleep, head resting on John.

_Hello, this is your captain speaking, we have just arrived in America and will be descending in half an hour._

"Sherlock," John whispered as he poked Sherlock's stomach, "Sherlock, wake up. We're here."

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, "That's rude. Half an hour. Didn't you hear the captain speaking?"

John took a deep breath, "Well wake up already, there's no point in going back to sleep."

"No." Sherlock shifted, placing his head on the window, "Now leave me alone. Will you?"

"Fine. First you don't want to sleep, and now you can;t wake up. Your such a kid."

"I know." Sherlock, with his eyes closed, smirked. "John."

"What is it?" John said in an annoyed tone.

"I love you." John snorted, and went back to reading a magazine he pulled out.

{oOo}

"I hope you enjoyed the ride over here."

"It was quite lovely," lied John.

Headache and back pain, wasn't the best plane ride he ever had. But, he was already settled down and out of the plane. It was better than anything.

"Well I guess, I'll leave it to you?" The sales woman walked to the door, urgently trying to leave.

"So, exactly _what_ is wrong with this house?" said Sherlock, turning to face the woman. Acting like he didn't know.

"Excuse me?"

"Sherlock, no." John put a hand on his shoulder, like this was going to stop Sherlock from saying anything.

"What is wrong with this house?" He said again. He then paused, waiting for her to answer, "You're such in a hurry to leave, care to explain?"

"Well," She looked panic, struck in embarrassment for not telling them what was wrong with this house. She was so desperate in selling it, she didn't even care if they would know exactly what happened in this house. Maybe she would just skip that part and explain that the house was a ghost grave and weird things happened. Maybe she would only tell them about the suicides and murders?

"The last owners.. well.. they died in here. Some find it disturbing, so I kept that part out."

John interrupted, "and when were you going to tell us this."

"Probably never." Sherlock calmly said, "and there is something else."

"No that's all." She said quickly. "Now, if you mind pausing this interrogation, I have another house to sell."

She went back walking to the door.

"Don't forget to tell them the house history!" yelled Sherlock.

"Sherlock!"

He turned his heels to face John. "If she lied to us, what makes you so sure she won't lie to anybody else?"

"Still." He shook his head, "Unpack, there's a few boxes and the furniture guys will be here in about half an hour."

"And what are you going to do?"

John began glancing at the walls, tracing his eyes to the stairs. "I'll be down in a bit, I want to see something."

"Really? Are you going to leave me do this all by myself?"

John began walking up the stairs, still glancing everywhere. The house was hiding something, like it could speak to him, trying to say something. He was going into Sherlock's and John's soon to be bedroom. The room bare. Nothing on the walls, no bed or curtains. Waiting for someone to decorate the unwelcoming room.

He walked up to the window, looking down at the back. "Hi," A voice said.

"Hello." John said without turning, like he was expecting something like this was going to happen.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Well this is my house. I can be anywhere I want."

"You should be scared."

"But I'm not."

There was an eerie feel about the voice. "Who are you?" John whispered, still not turning to face the voice he was speaking too.

"You'll find out." The voice whispered into John's ear.

Not flinching or blinking, "Guess, I will then." He smirked. He wasn't scared, he was _amused_. Desperate to know who it was that was speaking. John knew that this house was haunted, he wanted to know.

He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Walking down the stairs he spotted Sherlock standing in the middle of the living room staring at something.

"Sherlock." he walked into the room, standing in the doorway. "So? Do you like the place?"

"Don't know."

"Go look around. I'll finish unpacking and later you can help out."

"What is that John?" He said pointing up at the ceiling.

Something black was oozing out of the ceiling. A scent was getting stronger and stronger.

"Don't know.." John was staring at it.

"Go get a ladder." Sherlock demanded.

"I don't think we have one."

"Sure there is. It's out back, you can see small scrapes on the flooring leading out to the back."

"You go get it if you know where it is."

"Fine, but you're coming with me."

"No I'm not." Sherlock grabbed John's wrist and lead him out to the back to retrieve the ladder.

"Sherlock! You could have gotten it by yourself." He wiggled his hand out of Sherlock.

"There's the ladder," Sherlock picked it up and dragged it towards the house, "Come along, _Watson_."

When they got back there was no black slime.

"What?" John said, looking up at the ceiling.

"Our imagination is running wild." Sherlock glanced at him.

"Have you seen my suitcase?" John asked while looking through the stacks of boxes.

"I saw it in the basement." Sherlock said, not looking up at him.

"How did it get there?" He walked from the living room to the basement floor.

"Thought you would know." Sherlock placed the ladder down and began observing the walls. Looking for anything else.

John walked down the stairs.

"Are you loosing your memory?" Sherlock said. He looked up at John and saw that he was already gone. He went back observing the ceiling and walls. He was so distracted by the walls. He didn't know how long he had stared at it. He snapped back into reality and sat down on his couch and picked up a newspaper.

Just then there was a loud bang and a scream.

Sherlock jumped from his seat and went running towards the basement door.

"JOHN!" He screamed trying to open the basement door, but somehow it was jammed.


	2. In the dark

"Bloody hell." he whispered to himself. Going down the stairs he spotted his suitcase.

There was that bloody smell again.

John inhaled deeply. "Where is that smell coming from?" he wondered aloud.

He walked away from his suitcase, going into the next section of the basement. Just as he walked into the next room the lights began to flicker on and off.

_Well I guess we need to change the light bulbs in this room,_ he thought to himself.

All of a sudden, the lights turned off and the room was plunged into darkness.

John stood stock still right in the middle of the room. He was just about to move when the lights flicked back on and as John's eye's readjusted to the light he gasped, there in front of him stood a man.

"What are you doing in here?" John demanded wondering where the man had come from.

The man had blotches of burnt skin on his face and random pieces of hair on his head. His eyes were sunken into his head and they looked dark as if the man had no eyes at all.

John waited for the man to answer, but he never did, so John tried again.

"I'm speaking to you sir," John said in a strong commanding tone, he would not show fear to this strange man.

Once again there was no answer from the man and just before John was about to demand for the man to answer him yet again the lights turned off.

John spun around in a vain attempt to find the light switch in the dark, for some reason his senses told him to not allow the strange man to be alone with him in the dark.

The lights turned on again and John had to stifle a started scream; the man was standing face to face with John and now John could see that what he once thought was a man wasn't a man at all, in fact it wasn't even a human being. John could see, the thing's nails were five inches long yellow and sharp, very sharp.

John swallowed hard in fear and the lights turned off again. John's fight or flight reaction kicked in and John ran towards the exit. But he didn't make it very far as the thing, apparently being much quicker than John caught up to him and pushed John into the other room, another room in which the lights were blinking on and off.

The thing grabbed John by the legs and began pulling, fortunately John was quick enough to reach out and grab the leg of a shelf in front of him as he was being pulled.

The thing, whatever it was continued pulling and eventually the shelf leg was pulled out from it creating a loud bang!

John, finally having had enough, began screaming, "SHERLOCK!"

The lights turned on in the room again and he could see where he was being dragged to. The thing was dragging him to a room that he hadn't even known existed. Then the lights turned off, plunging him into darkness again.

John was doomed, he knew it, he was going to die at the hands of some creature he didn't even know the name of he- all of a sudden, the pulling stopped and the lights turned on.

John's head was buried under his arms and he was breathing heavily, his body full of adrenaline induced tension.

He tentatively glanced up and saw someone standing in front of him.

"Sherlock?" he asked his vision too fuzzy to clearly make out what he was seeing.

"No," something whispered in a cold tone that sounded as if it was coming from everywhere at once.

Then John's body jerked and he was being pulled again by some unknown force towards the room again. The worst part was that there was nothing holding his feet, nothing he could kick at or fight against.

"Sherlock!" He screamed again.

"It's okay, John." A soothing voice whispered a voice that sounded like Sherlock's.

John's heart was pounding and it felt like it had taken up permanent residence in his throat. He looked up to see a figure standing there and he hoped with all his might that it was Sherlock there to save him, he opened his mouth to call out again and took a deep breath and then his head dropped to the floor as he blacked out.

{oOo}

"Something dragged me in there," John accused pointing to the basement door.

"No. you thought you saw something, screamed, ran up the stairs, and fell." Sherlock explained in a matter-of-fact tone. He was starting to worry for him John, his health was deteriorating rapidly as he hadn't eaten anything or slept in the days since the _incident_.

John was pacing back and forth at the moment and Sherlock took the opportunity to study him. John did not look good at all, he was clearly sleep deprived which did nothing for his state of mind and he had lost weight making his clothes look overly big and baggy on him.

"I did not black out, Sherlock. I don't just get "fake" dragged down the stairs," John argued.

"I found you on the ground, with your eyes closed. You-blacked-out."

Sherlock stood up and took John's hand. "It's okay to be scared. It's a new house, but I promise you'll get used to it."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and pulled him in for a tight hug. John began sobbing.

"Something grabbed me. I didn't imagine anything," John insisted, in a pleading tone looking up with tear filled eyes, that begged for Sherlock to believe him.

Sherlock didn't answer John's pleas; he just shook his head sadly.

"Come on. You haven't eaten or slept in the past few days," Sherlock said as he wiped John's tears away and pulled him to the kitchen.

"I'll get you something to eat and then we'll go to bed," Sherlock promised.

Sherlock opened the fridge door. It wasn't filled to the brim with any of his experiments, yet. Soon it would much resemble the fridge at their home in that way, but for now there were normal contents, mostly food.

Sherlock pulled out some spaghetti. Left over from the night before and he reheated it before taking it across the kitchen to John who was sitting on a bar stool.

"Here. Eat." He commanded and shoved the plate into John's hands before sitting down next to him.

John sighed before picking up his fork, he had something he needed to tell Sherlock, something that would let Sherlock know that John was telling the truth about being attacked by a ghost.

"Sherlock I never told you-"John began nervously.

"That this house is haunted," Sherlock said turning to look at John with his piercing eyes.

John's eyes grew wide in shock, "How- How-"

"Did I know? John, do you think I'm stupid?" Sherlock asked in a harsh tone.

"Well no, but I hid everything from you," John said in a quiet guilty voice.

"There's a tour bus that comes every morning and I've read the reviews for this house." Sherlock said before pausing.

"You talk in your sleep when you feel guilty," he continued.

"I was going to tell you," John began.

"But you didn't," Sherlock interrupted.

Sherlock looked into John's eyes, trying to deduce what he already knew.

"When were you going to tell me?" He asked in a stern tone.

John paused, thinking of what he was going to say.

"Never," he finally admitted.

Sherlock knew, but he wanted to hear it from him. Deducing everything had its own disadvantages. John rarely kept secrets, but sometimes he did and Sherlock had learned the hard way not to pry. He had learned that, sometimes he didn't want to know what John was hiding.

John sighed and got down off the stool to take his plate to the sink.

"It wasn't that I didn't want to tell you, I just didn't want you to freak out." He locked eyes with Sherlock.

"Remember the hound?" John asked grinning trying to make light of the situation.

"Turned out to just be hallucinations, did you remember that part? Ghosts aren't real." Sherlock said in a certain voice.

"Come on lets go to bed," Sherlock said taking John's hand and leading him to the bedroom.


End file.
